For a Soldier
by LivingforPages
Summary: I had my childhood ripped away from me, my mother missing, my father dead, my brother leaving me in an orphanage for years without a word of consolement. An orphanage that trained me in the ways of a killer, working as a hitman for the German government. And just like that, it was dissolved. After joining Overwatch, I thought things would be better and turns out, nothing was.
1. Chapter 1

"Mama," I said, bringing over a food dish. "Will Albin being returning home for dinner?"

"I don't believe so, sweetheart." My mother's rich German voice calmed my nerves. "Can you get me a plate for the roast?"

"Of course, Mama." I smiled, bringing her a glass casserole dish. As I set it on the counter, I heard a loud crash, the dish had shattered to the ground, Mama had looked outside the window, the house across from our's, was in flames.

"Out of the house!" Our door was kicked down. A gun was pointed at my mother and myself, and I clung to her tightly. My mother nodded, putting her hands up, ushered me outside. I quickly grabbed my stuffed rabbit, only to get hit in the back with a gun.

"Mama!" I screamed, getting pulled away by the man. My mother reached for me, her arm getting butt away by another man's gun. She looked at me as I was sent into a separate group of only children.

As I was getting tossed into another group, with children much younger than I. I could see my mother being dragged away with some adults, parents watching their children with a mixture of mortified, and solemn looks. Most had accepted their children's deaths. I took a few of the kids into my arms, huddling them together on the snow covered dirt pathways. We were all freezing ourselves by sitting on nothing but frozen ground. There was no warmth but each other's body heat, which was dwindling by the second.

That's when I felt the heat of my own home being set ablaze. I felt hot tears begin to well up in my already wide eyes. I hid my face in the dirty clothing of the younger children sitting around me, crying quietly as I accepted my own fate. My little bit of hope was dwindling, I felt nothing but my home being stolen away from me by men that I had never even seen. Men that probably had nothing to do with me, and were burning down Eichenwald just to prove a political point, hurting innocent people and separating families who had most likely never even heard of their cause. That's how the world was in my day, where you thought you'd read about the horrors happening in other countries, and never considered someone else reading about the horrors in your own.

I felt a strong gust of cold air flick my hair around rapidly, an American flag was painted on the side, almost unnoticeable from my viewpoint on the ground. I heard the stamping of boots on the ground, and the men who had torn me from my mother rushed to meet the newcomers. I saw a small group of younger men, teenage boys come around the corner as the gunfire began. They untied a few of the bigger men and spoke what I assumed to be English.

A blonde boy came to me, his bright blue eyes looked at me as his fellow teammates helped the little kids to their mothers and fathers. He offered his hand, which I took, and allowed him to pull me from the dirt. My focus quickly went to finding my mother, and as I peered around, I didn't see her.

The boy, maybe a few years older than myself, followed my gaze to the group of adults. He spoke slowly, and I tried to make out what little English I knew, but there was one word I did know. _Mother._ I looked at him desperately, not remembering the bits of English my father had once taught me.

"M-Missing…?" I looked at him, hopeful I had the right word. He nodded, motioning for me to follow. I got onto the airship, where no other children were. No other adults, just me, wrapped in a blanket, sitting in the corner on the rugged metal of the floor.

I sat there until I heard the gunfire stop, men returned, some had bullet holes in them, bleeding profusely from their wounds. I was left in the corner, until a seemingly uninjured man looked at me, sitting next to me. He spoke German, with a harsh English accent, presumably American, but I managed to have a conversation with him. He asked where my mother was, I told him I saw her when we had been pulled out of our home, but I didn't see her again afterward.

So, after the city had been extinguished, and my mother hadn't been located, I was forced to go to the orphanage of the neighboring city, Neuses. I remember sobbing for hours after I was told I had to go, to leave my home in Eichenwald. I was on an American airship, with nothing but men, bawling my eyes out about having to leave home. I finally got myself under control enough to make myself stop crying, to stop looking weak, and I was dropped off outside the door of Neuses' orphanage, escorted by the same boy who found me. He offered me a simple smile, a look of fake optimism as he turned to go back to his airship with a brief sentence of words I didn't understand. But the blonde boy paused, tearing an American flag off his arm, placing his scrap of camo and embroidered flag into my hand. I glanced up at him, wondering what he had said to me. Was it words of hope? Or wishing me goodbye?

I kept that scrap of clothing, God only knows why, but I kept it on me at all times, It went from tradition, to habit as I grew older each year. I was the oldest child at that orphanage, and I grew up pretty quick with it. I got beaten up pretty much every other day by a group of brothers, a year older than me, and much bigger than me. I got so tired of getting black eyes and the trio teasing me for carrying a little scrap of fabric around with me, I just kept my mouth shut, and let them do whatever they wanted.

Then I went into Eichenwald one day, I was nearly fifteen, two years in the orphanage, and fetching a few important items for my "Mother," who was actually the woman who ran the orphanage. She was kind, and generally a good person, but she always turned a blind eye to anyone being beaten up, saying it was just "childish roughhousing." She was so blindingly polite, that it was easy to miss her menacing side.

That's when I saw it, a man, a big one, tried to mug a woman, a mother, who turned around and took her purse back and slammed the man into the ground. Out of his pockets, tumbled an array of knives, and I watched in awe as he just ran away. Is a man running away from a mother, a _woman?_ It was simply unheard of. I picked up a book on self-defense, claiming it was for my brother's birthday. My biological brother, he was in India, with his wife. I knew that much. I would have contacted him, but I didn't want him to find me, I wanted him to stay in India, away from me.

I returned to my cot, squinting at the book in the darkness, hurting my eyes to read with nothing but the moon's light. I skipped dinner, just to have peace and quiet to read to myself. Turns out, I needed a partner to practice self-defense on, so, I waited patiently, for one of the three boys to approach me threateningly. Without a doubt, they did, and I took down their leader, a boy named Albert, in a matter of seconds. Mother, she saw this, and dragged me into her office, sitting me in her chair, trying her hardest to look angry with me.

"Clara," Mother began, sitting down in her large, luxurious chair. "Where did you learn something like that?"

I shrugged, looking down. I figured I was going to be punished, that I'd have to pay for standing up for myself.

"You're not in trouble." Mother quickly stated, leaning forward. "Do you remember Ashlynn?"

My eyes widened a bit at the name. A girl younger than myself by only a few months, she had gone missing after Mother had talked with her. She was never seen again, and Mother claimed that she was "adopted" and had gone to live with a family far away. I quickly nodded in response to the question, making Mother lean back.

"I was wondering how long you were going to let those boys punch you. I'm glad to see you learned to stand up for yourself. Ashlynn, she had a similar experience with a boy much older. He's moved out, but Ashlynn, she's still here. Learning how to better defend herself."

I tilted my head to the side. Finally, I straightened myself up and looked my "Mother" in the eyes. "What are you asking me?" I almost regretted asking the question.

Mother smiled warmly. "Would you like to be adopted?"

From that day on, I was "adopted" and by that, I mean, taken into the basement of the orphanage, a soundproof basement I later discovered. Girls of all ages were there, some working on large computers, tracking down vicious German criminals. This was all a government organization, a conspiracy, where young girls were taught to hunt down terrorists and mobsters, and kill them without public attention being caught. It was so unreal to me, that an organization like that could be run in the very home I had been in for nearly two years without my notice. Guns were being shot at the shooting range, at moving targets, holographic men with guns, you had to hide behind covers, and shoot when you knew it was clear. There were rock walls and pitch black rooms, where you had to work on your strength and other abilities to get to a target. It was like a whole other building, in the basement of some old, creaking, orphanage.

I should have asked more questions on what this "adoption" really entailed. I was first tortured. Literally. For three months, I was interrogated every day. Being hit and punched, made to bleed, to toughen me for if I was ever caught and asked for information. It was Hell. Until I went into physical training, instead of mental. I was a whole new person at that point, I was disciplined, knew how to take a punch, and knew just as well how to throw one back. Physical training consisted of learning how to fight. How to predict hits, and read my enemies. I quickly found myself able to fight my own teacher and take her down by nearly another year.

Before I knew it, my childhood had swept by me. I was being sent on more and more assassination missions, corrupt politicians was a popular category. But they became simple, mindless, tasks. I never did the killing, those always went to the partner of the missions, the "Killer" or the girl who had already killed before. They were predetermined by their psych evaluations, the girls with the higher chances of insanity, they were the ones forced to kill. My partner, the "Killer" was none other Ashlynn. She was ruthless, acting as if none of it phased her. The blood on her hands, or sometimes, even her face. On one mission with Ashlynn, I made the mistake to walk in on Ashlynn's job. She was grinning like a madwoman, slowly sliding the blade across the man's throat. It was brutal and almost made me sick. But when she appeared after her job was done, she was calm, looking like a drug addict who just took a hit after an attempted intervention. It was her release, murder.

Eventually, Ashlynn went completely rogue. She hit the level of insanity you couldn't go to therapy for. Not even a memory sweep could stop her brain from remembering the passion she had for brutal killings. We managed to detain the psychopath, and as I walked my rounds one morning to check on the prisoners, I found Ashlynn in her cell, holding a knife she somehow managed to smuggle to our Mother's throat, slitting it with pride and joy. While Mother was already dead, I knew the girl, the friend I once knew, was gone. After a brief tussle. I shot her down, my friend's blood splattering my face. I remember the sickening feeling I got, wiping the blood from my cheek and vomiting at the gruesome scene I had to witness. I remember crying as I saw her dragged out on a stretcher, almost dead.

Needless to say, the program was shut down, and I, nearly twenty, was out of work. I enjoyed helping keep people safe, and my set of skills wasn't going to get me a job working a desk somewhere in business. I roamed Germany for a month before I saw a sign, a mercenary group, one that helped out every man, woman, and child. I knew I had to go show them my skills, I knew it was a job I would thrive in. I knew that Overwatch was for me.


	2. Chapter 2

Thankfully, after the program that taught me everything I knew was shut down, the government released some partial information about it. Thankfully, they only released names to organizations that would benefit the girl involved. Overwatch was one of those organizations. They read over my so called "resumé" and offered me a job as a high ranking officer on the team. I accepted with gusto, taking my few belongings from my little apartment in Berlin, and to an island in the middle of the Atlantic ocean. An airship flew me there, nearly half a day's flight, just for me to arrive at a small island I was supposed to call home. It had a watch tower, an air bay, along with a large, bustling HQ. There were living units, where the members slept. Of course, the higher ranking the officer, the better the room. I was started on the lowest tier of Rank 1 officers, and would move up through the ranks until I hit Commander status. I doubted I would be old enough to make it there though.

Overwatch was still a new concept, a single team of highly capable gunslingers and mercenaries. Criminals, and army men alike, they were all in this group of organized peacekeepers. They were only called upon for large issues, terrorism, or even the brink of war. It was intimidating, since I just helped Germany in order, which was a job within itself, and now, I was helping a group of about twenty, keep the world in it's place. They almost always found a way to get through their missions without any casualties, for them and their enemies. It was an admirable group of pure heroism, something that didn't really seem like it was for me the more I sat on the airship and thought about it.

I stepped off the airship, it was mid winter, and snow covered the island. Metal containers, which were supposedly buildings, had large symbols, the Overwatch symbol, which vaguely resembled a peace sign, was on the side of each one, along with the intended use of the building. I was to report to HQ, the largest and tallest building next to the watch tower. I walked in the sliding front door, seeing dozens of mechs delivering papers to people and offices. I was quickly greeted by one of said mechs, who led me to the office of Strike Commander Jack Morrison.

I opened the door after the mech let the Commander know I had arrived. A tall, muscular, man looked at me, with glowing blue eyes. He looked stern, like a smile had never graced his lips. I could easily see him in a leadership position, coincidentally, that's where he was. The Strike Commander of Overwatch, he was maybe thirty at the oldest, but younger than I had assumed he would be. I presumed that whoever assigned the roles, did so by rank by military most likely. He stood with a certain composure that told me he had a military background, the way he was organized confirmed that. With his name, I could also assume he was American, maybe British, but definitely a language that spoke English.

I had learned English in my years with Mother's organization, the tongue of Overwatch. It felt like so soon to be jumping back into the fray. The life of going on missions and filling out paperwork. I had to interact with people who were almost undoubtedly friendly, and I since this was my new job, and home, I had to make peace with everyone. Jack Morrison, was probably not the kind of man who wanted to make nice at work though. So, I ultimately came to the decision that I would analyze him further in his leisure hours.

"I'll skip introductions since we're already aware of each other. I've been debriefed on your background with your government's organization, and it's quite impressive, you've been on capture and retrieve missions since you were sixteen, undercover operations to dig up information." Commander Morrison picked up a file with my name on it. "There's no files here on your childhood strangely enough though. Care to explain?"

I had repeated this story to the political figureheads many times. It was completely made up, but it was much easier than explaining my complicated younger years over and over again. "My records were burned in a fire at the orphanage. I was brought there as a baby."

"I understand. Now, I've been assigned to assess your skills. Shall we?"

I nodded, Commander Morrison led me into a training room, with the same, but more advanced, shooting range that Mother had. Jack set the training simulator on the lowest setting at first, giving me a wide variety of weapons to choose from. I took a few daggers and strapped them to my belt, along with a pair of pistols. One attached to my thigh, the other in my hand. I took my place in the center of the field, letting the holograms start up. A trio of men with guns showed up around me, surrounding me. I roundhouse kicked one in the face, shooting another and tossing a blade with my other hand.

The settings must've gone from easy to hard in a matter of seconds, because nearly ten men came at me simultaneously. I picked up my second gun, shooting two in the face, leaving me with eight more enemies. One got close enough for me to slam my foot into his chest, giving me an escape point and managing to shoot another holograph on my way out. I felt a holographic bullet graze my arm, ignoring the sting, I pulled the triggers on both guns and watched as I shot the rest of the holograms dead.

I looked to my Commander, seeing him nod. "You can handle yourself, are you used to working in teams?"

"Pairs, one partner." I got a small shiver as I remembered my duo days.

"Well, you need to get used to keeping your eyes on multiple people. Got it?" I gave a nod, and was escorted out of the training center. "We'll have to put in a custom order for your weapons-"

"I can make my own." I interrupted. Morrison eyed me carefully.

"You're experienced with gunsmithing?"

"My organization had me make my own weapons and learn how to repair them, I can repair any gun you hand me." I lied to him. My father was the real reason why I knew how to work a gun. Before he passed away, he was a gunsmith. I worked in his shop sometimes, but I had never been interested in weapons before that.

The Strike Commander nodded. "We'll be sure to put you to work then. You can handle a few repairs, I assume?" Once again, I nodded. We walked for a while, before Morrison finally stopped at a room. My room I assumed. It was large enough, with a nice queen sized bed and a closet full of clothing, strangely, all my size and my taste. "Dinner is at eighteen hundred every evening, otherwise, you can get food at the vending machines scattered around here."

I nodded. "Thank you, Sir."

He returned the gesture, and left me to my bearings. I gently set my folded piece of fabric on my dresser, laying in my bed for a few moments. I stared up at my bland, white, ceiling. But I could see the ocean from my window, where I could watch the sea roll its waves over the shore for hours. As I watched the sea, I remembered I had responsibilities, I had to go find an office and set up my mailbox, tedious things that I could do at anytime. But first, I decided to explore, getting up, and sliding my hand across my dresser to pick up my scrap.

I walked the grounds a bit, finding a workout loft, with benches and treadmills, pull up bars, then all the fancy stuff that looked far to mechanical for me to use. The next building, the watch tower, it was tall and cylindrical, mechs swarmed the place, keeping an eye on everything in Gibraltar. It was a freezing cold room, but I quickly realized that omnimechs really didn't need warmth, kinda like how they needed maintenance once a month, and humans don't. The omnimech crisis really wasn't my problem, I was fine with mechs whether we were helping them or they were helping the human race.

After leaving the watchtower, I came across another set of living quarters, a medical center, and the cafeteria, which was full of pretty much every single member of Overwatch. This naturally, was quite overwhelming for me, so I decided to opt out for the time being, and kept on going on my own little tour. I hit the elevator button down the bottom floor, below ground and almost completely soundproof. When the door opened, I was surprised to find a workshop, with metal cutting machines, along with a shooting range, and even a station to make your own bullets. I was almost shocked to see it completely empty, no one working to repair their guns? Even when tragedy could strike at any time? I picked up a book, a set of instructions for making different kinds of guns. I almost laughed at some of the designs, typical American rifles, pistols, even machine guns. I tossed it aside, and almost immediately got to work.

With my long, curly, gingerbread colored hair tied back into a high ponytail, I put on a pair of goggles and went to work cutting metal. Sparks flew as I focused in on the crafting of my new gun, I finally got all my different plates and shells of my gun put together, and I began to cut screw holes into them, making sure they would all fit perfectly. I took my iron pieces, some metal, going to the machine that gave them a glossy coat of new paint, a matte black, something discreet, something you couldn't see in the dark. I hadn't even noticed that someone had come down into the workshop, a woman with long black hair, and a tattoo of what I assumed to be the Eye of Horus, around her own dark brown eye. She seemed to be approximately twenty six. The woman held herself up with a sense of confidence, but seemed warm and welcoming as well.

I looked at her, and she looked at me. "You must be our new sharpshooter." She smiled, walking towards me with a sniper rifle. The older woman offered her hand, and I took it, shaking it and remembering that I had to work with these people now. They weren't just some people on posters anymore. "Clara Weber." I greeted, my thick German accent sounding almost harsh against her beautiful and silky Egyptian one.

"Captain Ana Amari, it's wonderful to finally meet you." The timer on my now dried metal plates beeped, catching my attention. "You're making a gun?" She looked at me like she'd never seen such a thing.

"I knew I was going to have to do it eventually. My old ones were taken by the German government." I replied, explaining my predicament. The Captain of Overwatch went flipping through the book of gun designs, trying to determine which one I was using.

"You've come up with your own design too." The woman continued to state the obvious.

"I did," I nodded. "I didn't like the American weaponry designs I had to choose from. I'd rather make my own."

"You're a gunsmith?" Captain Amari asked hopefully.

I took a brief pause, thinking on my answer as I began to piece my masterpiece together. "...I suppose so."

The Captain continued to nod. "So, I suppose you could take a look at my rifle? The damn thing is so old, it barely fires without something falling off."

"If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to finish my own first, afterwards though, I'd be happy to assist you." I looked at the woman, giving a slight smile.

"That'd be very kind of you, I appreciate it."

Captain Amari headed back up the elevator, leaving her precious gun with me. I paused while my machine was cranking out custom piercing bullets for my gun to grab a few snacks out of one of the vending machines, shoving an Overwatch credit card into it, and having a few bags of chips and a large water pop out. I took it back to my spot, and began to work and eat. As I finished my gun, two pistols, one with an elongated tip for firing further, and one with a silencer, I took them both to the shooting range. Both worked effortlessly, which made me smile, knowing my father would be quite proud.

I found a pair of identical holsters, both of which easily attached to my belt and were snug enough to hold my guns. They were black leather, with Overwatch symbols printed on the flap. A few seconds later, staring down at my guns, I remembered what my Father had said to Albin, about him joining the German military, how proud he'd be. My mother strongly disapproved of it, saying it was far too dangerous and that my brother would hate it. But after our father died, Albin ran away, to a woman he had met through the internet, Samaira, saying he was in love and having a baby with her. That was when I was twelve, a year before the attack on Eichenwald. I hadn't seen him since then, I doubt he knew anything about my disappearance, or my mother's for that matter.

 _Mother…._ I sighed at the thought of her. I knew she was dead. She had to be. My mother was a loving one, who always put her children first and was selfless. The thought of her intentionally leaving me, it wasn't even a thought, or an idea of a thought. It was impossible. My mother was dead, or she would have found me. I shook off the feeling of my family, knowing I was my own person now, and my only family left was off living his own life, with a happy family somewhere far away from me.

I picked up Captain Amari's once custom made gun. I could tell it was made in Egypt, the style and materials. Golden accents, black metal. It was very well made, but definitely not reliable enough for combat. So, I scrapped the whole thing, and decided to just remake the damn thing. It was simple enough, the body was almost one piece, sure, custom made, but not exactly difficult to replicate. I went back into the same process, cutting out hunks of metal, welding them together with a metal melting, concentrated, heat, making a long, slim, piece that connected all the smaller ones. My father always told me gunsmithing was like making your own puzzle, and then putting the pieces you made together.

It must have gotten late, because the next thing I knew, I heard the elevator open and I saw my Commander pop out of it, seeing me in nothing but my tanktop and jeans, a welding mask on, holding a blowtorch. I most likely wouldn't have struck anyone as too approachable at that moment in time, but according to my Commander, I was.

"I see you've already gotten acquainted with the workshop." Morrison was wearing more casual clothing now, not his long blue cape with the Overwatch symbol. He was holding what I assumed to be his gun, a rifle, a pulse gun with piercing bullets, using light energy instead of other sources to shoot. It was fitting for him.

I looked at his gun. "Did you come down here to ask me to fix your gun?" I flipped off my mask, my hair coming out of the ponytail in strands.

The Commander smirked. "What gave it away?"

Crossing my arms, I gave a small smile. "Well, unless you just walk around the grounds with your gun…"

"What if I were guarding?"

"From what? We're on an island in the middle of the Atlantic." I shook my head and smiled. Jack slid his gun to me, I picked it up, staring down the sights and aimed it, that's when I saw it, the place that held the clip of bullets, it was too worn, you couldn't hold a clip in there without it falling out. I looked at Commander Morrison. "I can fix it if you'd like."

"Actually, I'd like you to show me how to fix it. If I'm ever in a situation where my gun breaks down, and if you're not around, I need to know how to fix it myself."

I tilted my head to the side, smiling. "Well, I'm sure I can show you a thing or two."  
I was surprised at the willingness to trust others so quickly in this group, men and women from all over the world, giving each other their complete and utter respect and trust. It was… impressive to say in the least. Now my Commander, the man I was supposed to be asking for help, was coming to me and asking for me to assist him. It was a great indicator that he wasn't stubborn about the little things. So, I took a break from Captain Amari's rifle, slipping out of my helmet and into a whole new ball game. The rifle was custom built almost undoubtedly, which means I had to figure out how another man worked.

The gun was American, I could tell from the inner workings of the thing. Simple, but packs a punch screams American gunsmithing. So, I began to take the rifle apart piece by piece, explaining each one's purpose and then setting it off to the side of the workbench. As soon as I finished, I looked at my Commander and gave a simple order. "Now put it back together."

Morrison gave a laugh, then looked at my expression. "What good will that do?"

"It'll make you remember everything's function, and rationalize where and what would be the source of the problem." I explained, a hand on my hip.

"Alright, shouldn't be too difficult…" I could tell as soon as the words left his lips, Morrison regretted his statement. I watched the clock as I worked on Ana's gun, not very surprisingly, I finished before Morrison did.

Watching him work, I got an odd sense of deja vu. I stared intensely at my Commander, examining him from head to toe. There was something so strikingly familiar, it almost hurt that I couldn't figure it out. But, Commander Morrison looked up from his work.

"May I offer my assistance?" I stood from my own welding station, and approached the workbench. Morrison seemed a touch uncomfortable as I leaned over into his workspace, making him get up and take a step back. I thought nothing of it, and scooted over into his seat. Commander Morrison just watched over my shoulder, beginning to pace as I began to find matching grooves and screw holes.

"Weber," he began. "You explained to me that you were brought to an orphanage as a baby."

"I was." I agreed, not really listening too much as I worked on repairing the gun.

"What town was that in? If you wouldn't mind sharing." Morrison was just making light conversation, making an effort to get to know me. And truthfully, if I had been paying closer attention, I would have lied and pushed him away. But, I wasn't.

"Neuses." I kept on working, not even realizing my truthfulness.

"Neuses…?" He asked, the city's name seemed to strike a chord with him. Commander Morrison paused and remained quiet for a few moments. Meanwhile, I was busy trying to find a very small piece of the rifle either I or Morrison had misplaced. I looked up at him, brushing hair from my face.

"You seem to be…" I paused, the English word slipping my head. I snapped my fingers until it finally came to me. "Missing," I spoke again before I forgot it. "You're missing a piece of your rifle."

Morrison looked at me suddenly, he was holding a piece in his hand without even thinking of it. He handed it to me, looking at me intensely and in awe. "Is Neuses anywhere near Eichenwald…?" Morrison asked me, catching my attention.

I paused, my words getting caught in my throat. I had no idea what he was getting at. "I-I believe so." I replied truthfully.

I turned and went back to my work of finishing my Commander's gun, having no clue if I had said something wrong or incorrect. Morrison looked like he was having an epiphany, like everything in his life was coming together and making sense. Morrison finally took a deep breath, and regained himself. I snapped the final piece in place, and handed him his rifle. "Thank you," Commander Morrison replied, keeping a stern look. "I expect to see you at breakfast tomorrow morning."

I looked at him, and nodded. "Yes sir…" I spoke meekly as he went up the elevator to God only knows where, and left me alone in the silent workshop once again.


	3. Chapter 3

"Good morning." I was greeted casually the next morning by Ana. She offered me a seat next to her as I ate my bowl of fruit, looking for a spot to sit in. "You're up early."

I'd only been with Overwatch for a month, but just as quickly as I'd established a routine, my higher ups had figured it out. I got up and started my day at seven every morning. It didn't matter what time I had been up till the night before, I was up at the crack of dawn, and ready to face the world by eight. I always wore a touch of makeup, it was a habit I had become quite attached to. A swipe of mascara on my eyelashes was all I needed. Of the few women I saw at Overwatch, I was the only one who seemed to know a thing about makeup.

I owned plenty of lipsticks and eyeliners and brow fillers, my settlement from the German government for my unpaid hours with Mother's organization finally catching up to me. I bought all sorts of things, one them being makeup. I liked to believe I was half decent at dolling myself up.

Another splurge I had used my money to buy myself was my little gold pendant, always hanging from my neck. It was a circular, gold, plate with my initial carved into it, my birthstone hanging next to it. I had bought it for myself one evening when passing a jewelry store, and hadn't taken it off since. Makeup and jewelry reminded me that even though I was an assassin, I was still a woman. I'd come to embrace myself much more after my realization.

Ana smiled at me, she always smiled at me. If Ana was frowning you knew you had messed up somehow. But she was always nurturing and warm hearted, as if she always had your best intentions in mind. I'd come to warm up to Ana, I admired her and all of her hard work. But the one who worked the most, was definitely Captain Morrison.

"How come Morrison never eats breakfast with us?" I asked Ana that morning after some light conversation.

Ana shrugged, finishing off her cup of yogurt. "Jack is always busy, he's Reyes right hand man, and he keeps the team together. He solves internal issues, helps with paperwork, he's the ambassador for Overwatch too." She went on to explain, I listened with great interest.

I jabbed at a strawberry with my fork, then popped it into my mouth. The tart and sweet juices making me enjoy the simplicity of my job. I'd come to appreciate the simple things in life. I heard the door push open behind us, making me turn to see Reyes, the unofficial, sort of official, leader of Overwatch. He was tall, muscular, a physique very similar to Morrison's, I'd figured out they'd been in the American military together, some sort of soldier enhancement program before they had joined Overwatch.

"If those two were on the posters for the American military, I would have joined years ago." Ana cracked a joke. Ana was a huge flirt.

I smiled, shaking my head. "Are you sure you should be saying that about our higher ups?"

Once again, Ana gave a carefree smile. "They can't hear me."

I quickly discovered that Morrison and Reyes were walking towards my shared table with Ana, sitting down and continuing their own conversations like we weren't even there. I felt a laugh quiety find it's way out of my mouth, Ana joining me in my snickering. This seemed to catch their attention, and we quickly silenced ourselves and went back to our breakfast.

Morrison was the first to pipe up after our awkward fit of giggling. "So Clara, Ana was telling me you speak eighteen different languages fluently, is that right?"

I cleaned my throat as I set down my water bottle. "Yes sir, German, English, French, Spanish, Latin, Russian, Swedish, even Korean."

"That's quite impressive, Weber." Reyes complimented.

"Thank you sir." I felt a smile force it's way onto my lips, Ana elbowed me under the table, giving me a thumbs up.

"Any other useful talents we need to know about besides for gunsmith and translator?" Morrison chuckled jokingly, I just continued to grin.

"I wouldn't give myself the title of gunsmith, sir." I remarked, standing up and placing my bowl in the window to be cleaned.

"If you're able to craft a gun on your own, coming up with the blueprints yourself, not to mention figure out Amari's, and my own without even asking the origin of them. I think you deserve that title." Morrison batted away my modesty, I returned to my spot at the table, smiling modestly.

Ana laughed quietly to herself, crossing her arms, she began to pick up her things off the table. "I should be going now, I've got a trip to Egypt in an hour."

I stood as well, picking up my phone and shoving it into my pocket. "It was nice talking with you, Captain Reyes, Captain Morrison." I smiled and turned on my heel, heading for the door to the workshop.

Reyes and Morrison watched me leave, waiting for me to be out of sight before Morrison felt an elbow bump his chest. "Enjoying the view?" Reyes looked at him with a mischievous grin.

Morrison furrowed his brow, then shook his head, leaning back in his chair. "I barely know her." He concluded quickly.

Reyes rolled his eyes. "That doesn't mean you can't admire her."

"How am I supposed to gain her respect if I'm _admiring_ her? I'm not a pervert." Morrison waved away his long time friend's idea.

"Does that mean I'm allowed to hit on her?" Reyes asked hopefully.

"She's not your type." Morrison remarked.

Reyes eyed him carefully. "Is she your's?"

Morrison looked over again, looking almost annoyed, he sighed. "If I had a type, sure, now can we stop talking about our teammate like she's a piece of meat, I'm sure this conversation would make her uncomfortable." Reyes chuckled, the two of them taking their things and walking out the way they come in earlier.

I sat at my desk, my cute wooden desk with everything I could ever need in terms of office supplies. I spent most of my days helping Morrison or Reyes with paperwork, which I always completed early and went off to the workshop. Torbjorn, the person who usually fixed everyone's guns, was delighted to have someone to chat with.

It wasn't unusual for Ana to stop by my desk and take a few papers out of my stack. Now that I was the lowest ranking officer, my duties consisted of paperwork and more paperwork. Ana was in charge of patrols, which meant she had it easy. She had made the schedule, and went on a patrol herself every evening at six.

I finished my daily chores, as usual they didn't take very long, and I was free to do as I pleased. I went back to my room, feeling a bit under the weather. It was only noon, and I felt ready for bed. I took my temperature, seeing it sky rocket to 40 degrees celsius. That was all the confirmation I needed to show that I was indeed sick. I sent a message to Ana, then curled up into my blankets, falling asleep.

When I woke up, I could hear quiet talking and a hand laid up against my forehead. My eyes drowsily opened, my face burning hot. I could see Ana, then Morrison, the two of them trying their best to stay quiet.

"Did we wake you?" Morrison took notice of my open eyes.

I shook my head, coughing and sitting up slowly. "No, I don't believe so."

"You look horrible." I could see Ana had returned from her trip, she had a tender look on her face. "I'll call up the doctors-"

"No!" I bursted quickly, shaking my head. They looked at one another, surprised at my outburst. I quickly closed my mouth, looking down silently.

Morrison was the first to speak. "If you're this sick, you need to see some sort of medical personnel."

After what felt like hours of hesitation, I managed a meek nod of agreement. Modern medicine could have me cured in seconds, like nothing ever happened. After a day's recovery, I'd be ready for work. All of this sounded good in theory, but doctor's were horrifying. I didn't hate them as people, I was just freaked out by them more than other people.

Ana was sent off to fetch a doctor for me, most of them stayed in the medical bay below HQ, doing research and such. But a few were always on staff in the infirmary, just for such an occasion. Part of me wish I could just be left to suffer, but the rational part of me knew I couldn't afford to make more of my teammates sick.

I knew I was just going to have to get over my irrational fear. They were world renowned doctors, researching for a cure to cancers and new diseases. I was sure they could give me a pill and the whole ordeal would be taken care of.

"You're scared of doctors?" Morrison asked me, I had almost forgotten he was next to me still. I was at a loss for words, I just closed my mouth and shook my head. Morrison just laughed. "Does it make me a bad person if I don't believe you?"

I sighed, pulling my knees up to my chest. "No."

Morrison ran his hand through his hair, looking away from me momentarily. "I've never seen such a levelheaded, calm, woman jump as quickly as you did with just the word "doctor." Unless they were afraid of one, of course." I was surprised at his word choice for me, calm nor levelheaded sounded quite like me. Quiet and reserved fit more appropriately. I finally decided to each their own, and let it go.

"I'll be alright." I said finally, smiling to the best of my abilities.

Morrison nodded, settling back in his chair and crossing his bulky arms. I raised my brow a bit, expecting him to leave as soon as he confirmed my security. Seeing me wiggle and shy away from a needle or cold hand was embarrassing enough for myself, I didn't want my Commander sitting there watching me do it. Especially over something as childish as being afraid of a doctor.

I jumped as soon as the door opened, a man in a lab coat smiling at me warmly as he shook my hand. I broke out into a cold sweat as our hands came away from each other. I couldn't stop the shaking or slight jittering of my appendages. I hoped it wasn't noticeable, but I knew well that everyone noticed.

"Alright, Weber. You'll be better in no time. Just a simple case of the flu that can be cured in a second." As he spoke, the man in the lab coat pulled out a small, plastic vial. He popped the vial into a syringe and flicked it. "Alright, turn your neck but don't strain it."

"My neck?" My eyes grew wide. I felt a hand rest on my shoulder, it was Morrison's and I didn't even have to look to know that. His hands felt exactly how you'd imagine they would, rough enough to show proof that he'd done military service, but warm and gentle against your skin.

I looked at him, and he looked back, his eyes were reassuring and comforting, not a parental comfort, but a trust. I could easily see why he was in charge of everyone, he cared about people. But it wasn't fair to say that Reyes didn't care, he just didn't do as well with domestic issues.

"All finished, rest up for another twenty four hours, and you'll be good as new." I felt a bandage touch my neck, and I turned back to Morrison, color finally returning to my face. He patted my shoulder, standing up and walking towards the door after the doctor I hadn't even learned the name of.

"Follow the doctor's orders, I don't want to see you up until your twenty four hours are up." With that simple phrase, Morrison was out the same way he had come in only a few moments before.

I stared at the door as it slid shut, my eyes wide and bright, and for the first time, I felt heat spread across my cheeks. Warmth that burned my pores like little daggers, there was a heat that added hot colors to my pale flesh, I was blushing. I shook the feeling away, I had no intentions of letting my emotions take control of me in such a way. He was my Commander, he gave the orders, I followed. There was going to be nothing more to it than that.

So I lied in bed, picking up a book and asking for a warm mug of tea. Coffee had never been my thing, but I could manage it after years of late nights and sleepless days as a teenager. Night soon fell over Gibraltar, and I found my own eyes growing heavier once again as my sickness faded to nothing, even though I'd been treated, I'd waited so long to take my medicine that the virus had managed to take its toll on my body, thus explaining my sleepiness.

So, I fell asleep, my head against my plush pillows, my fingers wrapped around my scrap of fabric. I kept it close to my chest, the fraying edges of the embroidery beginning to worry me. But it would stay for years to come, and maybe by the time the memento was on its last leg, I wouldn't need it anymore.


	4. Chapter 4

As soon as I was allowed back on my feet, that's where I was running around and doing paperwork or running errands for my bosses, like my day off had never even happened. I had everything done with impeccable timing, and then proceeded to have more paperwork thrown at me. Apparently, we were signing for a new space project, one that would cost billions, but could help the whole world make strides towards more knowledge about the universe.

I didn't look into it much, I just read over the papers as I usually did, and scribbled my signature on the line. It was like that for hours, every once in awhile, I would stand and deliver papers to my superior's offices, but then it would be right back to my desk.

Eventually, I was let off duty and gave me my freedom for the night. I decided to put a rigorous workout into my evening, feeling up for pushing myself. I could feel the soreness in my muscles almost immediately after stopping my movement, knowing I probably shouldn't have gone _quite_ so hard. But I just showered and headed to the workshop, where I found Torbjorn had already clocked out for the evening.

He was tinkering with some new toy, after a brief examination, I found it was a new shielding device for the island. Terrorist groups occasionally liked to get cocky and send some missiles our way, but they were never able to penetrate the self-healing fibrous wall. But last time a missile had come Overwatch's way, nearly a year previous, they had managed to dent our shields.

Curiosity got the best of me, and I popped the mechanism open, seeing the familiar gears and wires that was Torbjorn's trademark. The old-fashioned, but extremely effective methods were helpful out in battle, simply because they could be made quickly. But Torbjorn was not to be underestimated, he was up to date and making long strides towards international changes in technology.

I saw a complicated design, I saw what Torbjorn was going for though. The honeycombs that made up the wall were made from single filaments, but he was going for a string of four. That would turn the effects of the previous missiles have the effect of someone throwing a pencil at a brick wall.

I picked up a pair of tweezers, seeing the delicate material that powered and controlled the operations of the shields needed more sensitivity than that of my nimble fingers. I switched a couple things around, the whole design becoming much more simple and something I could understand, there was a spark, and I dropped the tweezers. Setting the tool back down in its spot, I moved on to my workstation, hoping I hadn't messed anything up.

I turned on music, getting to work on my orders for the week. Seven repairs, two custom orders, but first came the repair of Reyes's handheld shotguns. It was similar to Morrison's, since they were both crafted by the American military. Not complex by any means, just different than what I was accustomed to working with. With my hair pulled back in a ponytail, the music became white noise as my fingers began to weave their way through the small parts of a gun. I got lost in the clips and recoil, touching everything up to make sure it didn't lock up like when he was using it on his last mission.

I didn't even notice how long I'd been working, apparently well into the night once again. My face was streaked with grease and sludge from wiping the back of my hand on my face while I'd been so focused on the tiny mechanisms inside the weapon I was improving. I felt gross, in need of a hot shower, and maybe a nice sleep. I wiped the sweat from my brow, returned all my instruments to their proper locations, then headed upstairs and towards my room for the evening. The next work day to come would just be a repeat of the day's events, but the repetition reminded me that I had job security, and that nothing would be changing any time soon. Because of that, I felt at home at Overwatch.

"Morrison," Torbjorn approached, his gruff voice easy to identify as he came in from out of Morrison's sight. "Was Weber in the workshop last night?"

Morrison raised his brow. "I have no idea, why?"

Torbjorn held up the device as I walked in the door, my eyes widened and I slowly began to turn around, beginning to head the other way with my gigantic stack of papers in my arms. Both their eyes fell on me. "Weber!" I heard Torbjorn call my name, making my shoulders drop as I turned with a defeated smile. "Did you fix this?"

I slowly set my pile back onto the corner of my mahogany desk. "If by fix you mean broke, then yes I did."

Torbjorn let out a loud laugh. "Broke!? Not at all!" His chuckle bounced across the high ceilings. "You just solved what I'd been trying to figure out for a year now!"

"It works?"I asked quickly, taking the device. "I saw sparks and figured I'd broken the whole thing."

"I tested it out this morning, it works like a charm." Torbjorn clicked a button on it, and the fibers began weaving their way up into their honeycomb array. I felt a grin come across my face, brushing a few strands of hair out of my eyes.

"You've set us ahead of the game for the next ten years to come with this technology, maybe more." Morrison marvelled only for a second. "If our best engineer couldn't even make something like this, you must be much smarter than you've let on."

I shook my head quickly. "It was Torbjorn's original design, I can't take all the credit-"

"To hell you can't, I wouldn't have come up with this until it was too late and a government building would have been blown to smithereens. Don't tell me you didn't realize government buildings are given the same shields as we are?"

I shook my head, my face turning rosy from my teammates now staring in awe at my revolution in shield security. "No, I didn't realize…"

"Back to work everybody." Morrison took notice of the same thing I did, sending Overwatch back to work. Reyes emerged from his office, hearing the commotion.

"Torbjorn, you finally got the shields up?" Reyes looked to the chief engineer, overlooking me without hesitation.

Morrison interjected quickly. "Weber did this actually, on accident of all things."

I grinned modestly. Reyes looked up, smiling and nodding. "That's good work, Weber. I'll be sure to send this to the labs for mass producing."

"I'll go alert the media." Morrison left my side.

A chill made its way down my spine. "Media? Isn't that a bit unnecessary?" I headed after Morrison.

Morrison looked at him. "If you do a media appearance, more funds will be funnelled into Overwatch. It's proof that we're actually doing something useful here and not wasting people's time and money."

"Of course, that's perfectly reasonable." My voice dropped to almost a whisper.

"It'll be overwhelming at first, but you'll have Reyes and myself right behind you. You'll shake some hands, smile, it'll all be fine."

I took a calming breath, and then nodded towards my superior. "Of course, I just wanted to clarify."

Morrison stopped walking for a moment, meeting my eyes and suddenly smiled. "Good, have your things packed, we're heading to the U.K. in the morning."

I stuck my hand into my jacket pocket, clenching my little fabric scrap until my knuckles went white. I sighed, accepting the fear and trying to stay calm. "Okay, thank you sir." I replied finally.

My superior's mouth curled into a smile. "Call me Jack."

I felt myself relax slowly, tension being released from my shoulders. "Jack, of course."

The next morning, I was on an airship with Reyes, Ana, and Jack, all of us heading towards London for a press conference at noon. We decided to stay there overnight for the banquet that the Prime Minister had thrown in my honor, as a thank you for my work in security. Not wanting to offend we all agreed to stay and enjoy a night of festivities.

I was dressed in my Overwatch fatigues, a pair of black boots, with a pair of long, Overwatch blue pants tucked into my knee high shoes. A jacket looking top matched my pants in color, a black belt going around my waist, the symbol of Overwatch on my left breast pocket, the collar of my jacket going halfway up my neck, my long jacket reaching halfway down my calves, the torso portion of it hugging me in the chilly London weather. My brown hair was brushed neatly, my bangs braided back and portraying my face.

Ana approved my uniform, wearing a slightly similar one. Jack and Reyes both entered, wearing their full military fatigues, both of them also wearing similar expressions. Jack gestured towards the door, looking at me.

"Ready?" Ana asked me, beaming with what looked like pride. Her two year old daughter, Pharah, was in her arms, wearing an identical outfit to her mother.

"Of course."

As I was escorted out to the podium, many cameras flashed, I was immediately berated with questions and things shoved into my face, but I just smiled and kept my eyes forward. I was outside, a screen behind me with the Overwatch symbol on it. The day was a bit cloudy and rainy, but everything seemed peaceful enough.

There was quite the crowd, a couple hundred people at least packing the area in front of a government building. I took a breath, looking towards Ana for confirmation to begin, she gave me a reassuring nod before I greeted the crowd of people.

My long presentation began, and I explained everything Jack had informed me I was able to. I brought up a presentation, demonstrating the strength of the new shields, and the beneficial impacts it would have internationally. At times, I was worried everyone had fallen asleep, but when I peeked out of the corner of my eyes, every single reporter was jotting things down as quickly as they could.

I felt much more comfortable in my own skin the longer I spoke to what felt like no one. What seemed like only a moment later, I felt Reyes touch my arm, looking at me sternly.

"We need to go." He said, beginning to take me off the stage. Ana was already ahead of me, shielding Pharah, Jack was behind me, looking into the rooftops.

That's when I heard it, the whizzing of a bullet as it grazed my ear, missing me by a couple centimeters. My eyes grew wide, and Jack grabbed my forearm, pulling me into the government building. The crowd scattered, running anywhere they could to hide from the gunman. Another shot could be heard, and I saw Jack flinch as the shot went straight into his shoulder. He had taken a bullet for me like it was nothing. Then we were inside the building, being escorted towards the back where our airship was. The hatch opened, then closed, shielding us from the dangers of London.

Everyone was accounted for, my ear was bleeding onto my coat. Jack's hand was bloody from his new wound on his upper arm. No one was seriously injured, thankfully. I looked to Reyes, feeling almost angry that someone would try to ruin such a peaceful gathering.

"What the hell was that?" I asked, feeling Ana hand me a gauze pad to press against my ear. Jack fell back against the couch, clutching his arm. No medical staff was on board, but I had been on enough missions to know how to pull out a bullet. I called for a pair of tweezers, a medical kit, and antiseptic. I was handed my little supply kit, and helped Morrison out of his coat.

"There was a sniper, in the rooftops. Took out a few guards and started firing at you." Reyes explained. Ana was calming down the crying Pharah, who was thankfully safe and sound.

"Why?" I asked, then realizing no one had the answer. "It wasn't exactly a controversial topic, it was just a security matter."

"Someone obviously saw it as an opportunity to take a shot at you." Jack said through gritted teeth, looking at me as I attempted to pull out the bullet fragments.

I looked away, still fuming over the matter. "That is unacceptable…" I yanked out the last of the shattered material from my superior's upper arm.

I doused a gauze pad in antiseptic, cleaning the area around the bloody hole. I began to stitch the area closed, and wrap up Jack's arm. A job well done for being on an airship during takeoff.

"We'll have the cameras look into the matter, we should get everyone home safe before we worry about who's taking the shots." Reyes explained to me.

Jack stood up off the couch, looking at his bloodied jacket. "Do you fix clothing too?" He asked hopefully. I rolled my eyes, but felt an unwanted smile on my face.

I found an evidence bag, and put the bullet inside, handing it to Reyes. It was an open investigation now, but we had no leads, no eyewitnesses, to begin, we had nothing but a blood covered bullet.

I felt the adrenaline from the whole situation at the press conference begin to exit my system, giving me a serene feeling. I wondered if this was really just a person shooting to get attention on how they didn't like my shields. Or to just get attention in general.

I wanted to say the worst was past us, but a direct attack on Overwatch was not going to be ignored. I hoped it was the end, but looking at Morrison's arm, I knew who ever this was wasn't going to be satisfied with a shot to the arm on the person they weren't aiming at.

Once landing on Gibraltar, I felt the unease leave me. Security, safety, those were the two things I felt as soon as I landed and stepped onto the metal landing pad.

That's when I heard the sound of missiles slamming into the protective walls on the perimeter of Gibraltar. All of us turned, only to see Torbjorn taking notes on the effect of our own missiles on our shields. My breath had hitched as soon as I had noticed what seemed like incoming doom for the island, and was only now just beginning to calm.

I felt a hand touch my lower back, and I saw Morrison giving me a stern look. He had something he wanted to talk about, and I knew it would be a closed door conversation. After a brief discussion, he allowed me to change into my casual clothing, and made me agree to meet him in his office by six that evening. I wasn't sure what to make of the approaching meeting, was he going to question me like in an interrogation? I would answer to the best of my abilities of course, but I didn't know if he was angry for having to risk his life for me over a random shooting.

I took a slow, relaxing, breath in. My mind was racing with irrational thoughts, all of which led me to think Morrison was an unreasonable man. From my observations, he was the opposite of unreasonable, Morrison was quite collected and logical. He always acted how he was expected to, respectfully and dutifully towards everyone he came across. No matter how rude the other person may be.

I knocked softly against the tinted windows of Jack Morrison's office, I doubted he could see out with them so dark. But he pressed a button on his desk and the door slid open, allowing me inside. The space was quite large, with multiple floating computer monitors and a desk with organized documents in what looked like their correct spots. There was a gigantic window behind where Morrison typically sat, and the sun was setting on the horizon.

I was offered a box of chinese takeout, I took it, smelling the cheap and greasy imported delicacy from a local shop in Morrison's hometown in Indiana. I saw him eat it on his rougher days, where he worked later than usual or had a day filled with meetings. Morrison didn't drink alcohol, or smoke, he just had a box of takeout.

"You did a very good job at patching up my arm," Morrison said as he passed me a pair of chopsticks. Thankfully, I was also a fan of his favorite food and had ordered it myself many times, only slightly more German-esque. "You continue to impress me with your practical skills."

I dug in, taking a bite from the stir fried noodles I had been given. "Well, the agency I was with before Overwatch certainly taught me a thing or two."

Morrison nodded, not looking me in the eye. "Would it be too much for me to ask about that agency, Clara?"

I paused, setting down the takeout and leaning against the window uncomfortably. He knew more than he was letting on, I'd been to enough meetings with German officials with Mother to know that tone of voice. "Given the circumstances, I don't see why not." I decided.

He set his own meal down and offered the chair across from him to me, a plush loveseat that I could easily see him laying on and filling out papers. I sat in the matching blue one across from his, and he leaned forward, looking at me sternly once again.

"I'm going to be straight with you, I want to know the truth about your past, I've got a sinking feeling that you may have withheld the truth from me the first time we spoke in person."

My breathing became shaky, but I looked him in the eye, which seemed to surprise Jack at my sudden boldness. "You're right, and I apologize for lying. I had no reason to lie, but it is a bit scary, worrying about the judgement and all."

"Well, if it is what you'd like, I can keep this between us." Jack offered.

"No, I'll tell everyone myself when I'm ready. But, I suppose you of all people deserve to know what's going on." I stood, picking back up my takeout and digging through it with my chopsticks. Taking a final breath in, I began. "I was taken to an orphanage in my early teenage years after Eichenwald, my village, was burned to the ground. My brother is somewhere off in India with his wife, he cut connections with my family and my mother disappeared in the chaos. The orphanage was in Neuses, the closest town to Eichenwald. The orphanage was actually a government funded agency, hired to take out political enemies."

Morrison ran his fingers through his thick strands of yellow blonde hair, he looked at the ground, but then I saw the rise and fall of his shoulders, and a deep laughter. I could see that he was trying his damndest to withhold his laughter. I raised my brow, tilting my head, not looking nearly as amused by my story as Jack seemed to be.

"Please, excuse me. I'm not laughing at your situation, by any means Clara. I just, finally made the connections in my head."

I crossed my arms. "What connections?"

Jack looked up, stifling his laughter. "That scrap of fabric I noticed you carry with you, that's part of an American military uniform, right?"

I pulled out the momento, looking at my superior with suddenly defensive eyes that could cut steel. "What about it?"

"I was the one who gave that to you, Clara." Jack smiled, picking up a picture of his desk and handed it to me. Inside the little wooden frame was the picture of an extremely familiar boy, with shimmering blue eyes and the same blonde hair with the skinny frame. "We were the American unit in Germany for training on terrorism, and there happened to be an attack on your village."

I blinked, blindsided by something so painfully obvious. He was the spitting image of his younger self, except much buffer, and with ruggish features. "How long did you suspect something like that?" I shyly handed him the scrap of fabric.

"Since that first time we spoke in the workshop, afterwards, your looks gave you away. I remember your face perfectly, and I suppose I just wasn't expecting you to be at Overwatch, so it took me a bit longer to come to the full realization of who you were."

"Quite the coincidence." I crossed my arms uncomfortably. I eyed my scrap of fabric, wanting to reach out and snatch it from him.

"I agree." Morrison sensed my unease and handed me back my fabric scrap. "I suppose me and you wouldn't be speaking right now if it wasn't for us taking you to that orphanage."

My body took autopilot, nodding to a statement that I'd barely even heard. Jack Morrison, one of the leaders of Overwatch, was the boy who pulled me out of Eichenwald? That seemed almost impossible to me, the fact that out of all the people in the world, the one I never thought of seeing again was right in front of me. Coincidences happen, but one to this scale was very rare for anyone.

I slid my hands into my jean pockets, leaning back against the window which no one could see through. I took another bite from my meal, feeling it beginning to grow cold. Jack looked at me with a surprisingly blank expression, taking a step towards me. "You have grown up into a beautiful woman, I would have never expected that from such a scruffy teenage girl."

"I was a bit boyish before I became apart of the agency, but don't you think you saying that is a bit rude?" I looked at him, straightening my back out.

Morrison took a step back, nodding. "I'm sorry, you're right. That was inappropriate."

"I understand the complement behind your statement." I smiled and accepted his apology, feeling warmth enter my body once again.

I pushed my hair from my eyes, moving away from him and heading to the other side of the room. "Is there anything else you need sir?"

There was a brief headshake, and I grinned warmly at my superior. "Thank you for dinner sir."

"Of course, anytime." I opened the door, then closed it behind me.


	5. Chapter 5

"Clara," Ana called to me while I ate breakfast at my desk one morning. I set down my bowl of yogurt as I was waved along for me to follow. I picked up my communicator, and rushed off to follow Ana. "I need you to identify someone."

"Of course." I was lead into a room full of computers, where Reyes and Morrison were already waiting. It was dark, the only light coming from the screens.

Ana took her seat in front of the keyboard, pulling up a few tabs, around the photo of a woman. It was a sniper, on the rooftops in London. I could easily identify that as only a month or so before, when I was giving my presentation. Ana zoomed in on the photo, and my eyes widened as I made the realization.

"There's no way in hell-" I leaned forward, taking the mouse from Ana and zooming in as far I the picture would allow. "I was supposed to be notified if she lived."

"You know her?" Reyes replied and I expanded the image.

"She was my partner at my previous agency, she did the executions on the job. I just made sure she got there to do her part. Ashlynn Clark, she went insane and killed our director." I explained, remembering the bloody scene.

"Why would she be dead?" Morrison crossed his arms.

"She attacked me, I defended and slit her throat, apparently, she made a miraculous recovery." I ran a hand through my long hair, feeling frustrated. "Are you trying to tell me that Ashlynn took the shot at us last month?"

Ana turned in her chair. "Unfortunately yes. But thankfully for us, she's a lousy shot."

"My shoulder would say otherwise…" Morrison grumbled from behind me, a tightly wrapped bandage going around his upper arm. I couldn't even smile at Morrison's snarky comments, I was too focused on the photo on the screen in front of me.

"I'm going to call my old connections and see what's going on… Ashlynn shouldn't be out and about, especially since she's living." I picked up my communicator, dialing a number I had memorized long ago.

Reyes watched me leave the room, my footsteps turning into nothing but an echo as I walked down the corridor to speak with German officials. Feeling his communicator buzz, he looked to Morrison then down at his phone. "I gotta go for a while."

His partner raised his brow, looking at Reyes with curiosity. "Do we have a meeting scheduled?"

"No, Director is calling me." The answer was curt, and unlike Reyes in many ways. Morrison had taken notice of his friend's absences in places where he could usually be found. "Let me know if we get any news on this crazy Ashlynn girl."

"Will do." Morrison watched Reyes walk out the door and in the direction of the elevators. There was unrest in his being, something just wasn't settling with Jack as he watched Reyes leave so nonchalantly. But he let it go, giving his old friend the benefit of the doubt.

I walked back in the door just in time to see Reyes leave, and as I reentered the small, dark, room, I found that Ana was digging up whatever she could on Ashlynn.

Morrison was watching the door suspiciously, his eyes then resting on me, then on Ana's screen. I took in a deep breath, feeling anxiety begin to corrupt my thoughts with what ifs and dangerous maybes. I approached Ana's side once again, setting my hand on the back of her chair as I looked over her shoulder.

"Any ideas why this girl has gotten out of wherever the hell she was?" Jack looked to me as he slid his communicator back where it belonged.

My sigh must have given him a clue as to how I felt on the matter. "Ashlynn broke out of her cell last month, no one ever told me because apparently, since I'm in Overwatch, it violates our previous contracts." I growled, annoyed at the quite unnecessary conversation I'd had with the German Private Affairs chancellor.

"Sir," The Ambassador for Overwatch walked in, a black man by the name of Marc. He wore his uniform, was muscular and always wore a friendly smile. "Can we confirm May third for the Gala? I need to get the invitations sent out." His American accent was a bit different than Jack's midwestern dialect, he sounded much more formal.

Morrison turned around, pausing to think for a moment. "Yes, send out the invitations as soon as possible." Marc nodded and left, looking over me and not asking any questions.

I lost my train of thought, not able to think of a proper definition for _gala._ "A Gala?" I asked finally, giving up on my scattered brain. "What's that?"

Ana looked up, offering me her seat so I could dig through some files while she spoke. "It's a big party basically. Black tie formal, big government officials come and we host and discuss our improvements in technology." Ana didn't seem the most pleased about it.

Jack rolled his eyes. "It's just another scheme for countries to give us money. But they always enjoy a party, and our hospitalities. So it's only for upper-rank officers, everyone else is out protecting the island."

My tired eyes looked up from the screen, not used to staring at a screen for longer than a few moments. "It's just a party then?"

"Hypothetically, yes." Ana confirmed.

I stood from the chair, having gathered as much information as I could in the past few minutes. I wondered if Ashlynn was going after any of the other girls in the agency or if it was just me. I wanted her to only end up coming after me, some of the girls were married or were pregnant, I was still lost in my mercenary days as a twenty year old woman, I would be missed by people much less than they would.

"This is a threat against Overwatch now, not just you, Clara. Don't even think about trying to go off on your own." Ana scolded me, already a step ahead of my thoughts.

I gave a long nod, still staring at nothing as my mind raced. I finally snapped out of my daydream, deciding I needed to get back to work. With nothing more to say to me, Morrison and Ana let me return to my desk. The quiet day left me to my own devices, trapped in my head and wondering about Ashlynn and what she had planned. May was nearly a month away, the next big Overwatch event could attract her to the island. I anticipated it, knowing Ashlynn she could get her way into anything with the bat of her eyes and a smile. But I wasn't planning on letting her in easily.

At dinner, the repetition of my schedule led me into the workshop without my notice. Once again I was back in the shop, completing my unfinished projects from the night before. After about an hour, I found myself aching for a good workout. I couldn't get my mind off of Ashlynn, I was overthinking the whole situation and my brain needed a break.

Not very surprisingly, the gym was empty at midnight. During the day, it was packed with Overwatch members wanting their daily workout. I made a mental note to workout around this time every day, enjoying the quiet that allowed my own music selection to be blared over the speakers.

I wore my sports bra and a pair of running shorts, starting with a relaxing run on a treadmill. The pounding of my feet on the machine became a constant rhythm that made me realize I had gained a few pounds since my joining. I'd never been a stick thin girl, I my hips and chest made me a size or two larger than most the girls in Overwatch or Mother's agency. I'd always been self conscious about them, but knew there wasn't much I could do to fix my genetics.

I stretched out out my back as I put on a pair of kickboxing gloves and started up the machine. I saw a pad pop up for me to punch, then a lower one for my left foot to beat. I stayed light on my feet, hopping back and forth and keeping my fists near my body.

Another half hour until my fists finally started to hurt, my thighs burning from the swings. I downed half my bottle of water as I heard the gym door close. I looked up, seeing Jack standing there in a pair of shorts without a shirt. My eyes went to the audio remote, turning off the speakers.

"Never seen you in here before." Jack tossed his gym bag near mine.

"I'm usually working." I replied as I took down my hair from the ponytail. It fell a good ways down my back, I looked at it, annoyed.

Jack set up the rowing machine, looking at me before he sat down on the seat. "You don't like it long?" Jack motioned to my head.

I shrugged. "It's not practical in my line of work."

"Amari wears her hair long." Jack reminded me.

I raised my brow, finally laughing to myself. "Are you trying to justify me having long hair?"

"I'm just saying it suits you."

I rolled my eyes, sucking in a breath, annoyed at his comments. "First you call me scruffy, now you're trying to tell me how to wear my hair?"

"That's not what I-"

"Of course it isn't. You were just giving an opinion." I began, slipping my off the shoulder gray shirt back over my head. I slipped my gym bag over my shoulder, deciding to shower once I returned to my room for the evening. "But your opinions are a bit offensive at times, Jack." Morrison watched me turn to leave, his mouth wide open, trying to find the right words. I stared him in the eyes one final time, waiting for something before I finally exhaled and gave up on a decent answer from my superior. "Goodnight Jack." I angrily pushed open the door, shoving my gym bag into my gym locker.

"Clara." I heard Jack's voice from behind me. Just as I was about to shut my locker door, I sighed once again. "I'm sorry."

I turned on my heel, crossing my arms. "Is this how you treat everyone? If so, I don't understand how you're in a position of leadership."

Morrison scratched the back of his head, I could tell he was choosing his next phrase carefully, silence hanging in the air like a dense fog between us. "No, I don't, and I apologize Clara. My actions were inexcusable and uncalled for. I shouldn't be talking about your physical traits at all like I make decisions about your body."

I let my hands fall to my sides, nodding my head and walking a step or two closer. I could see he was being genuine, and not just wanting me on his good side. I set a hand on Jack's shoulder, smiling and looking up to him. "We all make mistakes I suppose."

Jack nodded, letting my hand slip off his skin. "Thank you, Clara. We won't be having this conversation again."

"I hope not." I kept on walking towards the door, and pushing it open. I was ready to collapse into my bed and pass out until dawn.

"Oh Clara, you're being ridiculous. Just let me do your hair for the Gala." Ana pressured a bit more. "I do Pharah's hair everyday."

I straightened out my documents, walking towards Reyes office and setting them on his desk. "I'm not a three year old girl, Ana."

"I do my own hair everyday."

"Have you ever noticed how similar you and your daughter's hair looks?"

Ana paused for a moment, then made an annoyed grumbling noise of dissatisfaction. "I can do a different style."

I continued on my walk, back to my desk where I sat down and continued to work. Feeling Ana's presence lingering, I groaned and gave in. "Fine, only if you let me do your makeup."

Ana made a similar noise, but didn't continue the argument. "Alright, don't go making me look like a prostitute though."

I laughed, nodding and continued to slide my pen across the dotted line.

"You're telling me you totally blew it with this girl?" Reyes asked Morrison, smirking and munching on his apple.

Jack rolled his eyes, leaning against the wall and peering at Ana at my desk, making me laugh and smile. "It's not that I blew it."

"You're right, calling a woman scruffy and telling her how to wear something isn't blowing it." Reyes rolled his eyes. "So tell me, what's the difference between Clara Weber, and every other girl in the world?"

Jack pursed his lips, his eyes landing on me as I continued my work, alone and in silence. "I just feel something different about her. She's not just some officer following my orders, Clara is honest and not afraid to speak her mind."

"So is Amari. She's not afraid of anything." Reyes pointed his apple at Jack.

"I'm just saying, I want to impress her."

"You're just saying I was right and you have a thing for her."

Jack scoffed and shook his head. "She's a Major."

"And you're a Captain." Gabriel was quick to point out as he tossed his scraps into the wastebasket. "C'mon man, go for it. You deserve somebody special just as much as the next guy."

Jack shrugged. "Says the bastard with three women waiting for him at home."

Gabriel chuckled and mimicked Jack. "What can I say, I like having many special women in my life."

Jack felt his communicator ring, and he looked down to see his alarm going off. "Alright, let's go get ready. The girls have already left to go get ready."

"Yes sir." Gabriel slid off the edge of his desk, and sped ahead of Jack who was already heading towards the door. Being the smartass Gabriel had always been, the man opened the door and bowed to his second in command, who just rolled his eyes and snorted.


End file.
